Shadows of the Past
by BlytheWriter
Summary: Gabby - father/daughter. My take on their relationship and how it began. Rated M just in case. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

My first ever fanfic. Please R&R… oh, and enjoy too!

More chapters to come as I have time to finish them…

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Gibbs paused to rub the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Eyes closed, he silently cursed the monitor in front of him, blazing bright in the darkness of the bullpen. He couldn't understand how computers had become so popular – so necessary. Nothing was better than a pad of paper and a pen, he thought. At least they didn't cause headaches.

He looked at his watch. Almost 2200 hours. He stifled a yawn and shifted uneasily in his chair. The last few days had been long and tiring, but satisfying. Typing up case report could wait until tomorrow, he knew, but that wasn't why he was still here.

He was waiting for her.

The soft ding of the elevator was his cue. He quickly snapped off his monitor and desk lamp, while grabbing his gun and keys with his other hand. On any other day he'd have waited for her to come over to his desk before acknowledging her, in his typical manner. But not today – today he was hers.

As he approached the elevator he saw a pale hand wrapped around the frame, holding the door open. He snagged her hand in his as he slipped into the elevator, wrapping his fingers around hers. She had already hit the button to take them to the lobby.

They moved together silently to his car. He slowly released her hand as she climbed into the passenger's seat, then made his way around the front of the car to driver's side making sure to stay in her field of vision. Once he had closed his door, she quickly pushed the power-lock button with trembling fingers and let out a jagged breath in time with the dull thud of the door locks engaging.

"Hey, Abs," he said as he leaned over to brush his lips across her forehead. Her skin was cool and clammy. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She nodded, almost absentmindedly, her eyes focused on something in her memories. He kissed her again before starting the engine. She curled up, her knees wedged under her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs, as he drove along the familiar route to his house.

He pulled into his driveway and quickly went over to the passenger's side to help her out. Her eyes were glassy and somehow darker than normal. He was forced to lift her out of the car, one arm under her knees, and the other around her back. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and nudged her nose under his chin. He kicked the passenger door shut and carried her up the porch steps. Fumbling slightly, he unlocked the door using the hand sticking out from under her knees.

Once inside, he placed her gently on his couch before returning to lock the front door. He could leave no door unlocked tonight if he wanted Abby to get any sleep at all. He squatted in front of her and took her hands in his. "I'm going to make some coffee," he whispered. She nodded as she looked through him.

Making his way to his kitchen, he felt his cell phone begin to vibrate in his jacket pocket. He quickly snapped it open and answered, "Gibbs."

"Ah, yes, Jethro. I am calling to find out how our dear Abigail is doing?"

Gibbs scooped coffee grinds into the basket of the coffee maker before flipping it on. "She's okay, Duck. No worse than last year. I just got her home."

"I am relieved to hear that," the doctor replied. "You take good care of her, Jethro. She trusts you."

"I know," he said as he poked his head into the living room to check on her. He watched her as she adjusted pillows before wrapping herself in his fleece throw, relieved to see her moving.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to give me a call. You won't be disturbing anyone here tonight. Mother has just discovered a there will be a three hour wrestling special on television later tonight, and she insists on staying up to watch it. I must say that these supposed wrestlers who use body paint and props and bizarre costumes have no resemblance to the wrestlers of the early –"

"Duck! I've gotta go."

"Oh dear. Yes, my apologies. Go tend to your guest. I'll see you on Monday."

Gibbs flipped his cell phone shut and thought briefly about slipping into the stream of coffee spilling into the carafe. Not worth wasting a pot of coffee, he decided. Once the coffee was made he poured two cups and carried them out to the living room, placing them on the table in front of Abby. She looked at him and smiled weakly before taking a small sip.

"Abs," he sighed as he sat down beside her, "good to see you're back with me." He lifted his arm and she slid over until she was pressed against him, her legs draped over his lap. "You wanna talk?"

She shook her head before burying it in the warmth of his neck.

"Okay. No talking, but you let me know if you want to. Deal?"

He felt her nod against him. He adjusted the blanket around her shoulders before wrapping his arms around her. He rubbed her back rhythmically and before long found himself gently rocking her. Tears slipped down her cheeks onto his neck, and he was overcome again, as he always was, with the silence that enveloped her while she cried. Sobs could be wracking her body, and yet she never let out more than a whispered groan. It was the one thing about Abby that always left him unsettled, even after all these years.

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	2. Chapter 2

Sorry this chapter is short, but something is better than nothing, right? ;-)

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"Probie!"

He snapped his head up from his paperwork and said, "Yeah, boss?"

"We've got a dead Petty Officer. Apparently got involved in a barroom brawl. You," his boss said has he lobbed a set of keys at him, "get the car and meet me around back."

Gibbs grabbed his gun and jacket and started to jog to the elevator.

"Hey!"

Gibbs stopped abruptly and turned around.

"Forgetting something, Probie?"

Gibbs looked at the camera case swinging lazily below Franks' outstretched hand.

"Sorry, boss," Gibbs said as he rushed back to grab the camera. He turned to head back towards the elevator and felt a hand swat him smartly on the back of the head.

"Never apologize, Probie. It's a sign of weakness."

Gibbs didn't turn around, but his lips curled into a loose smile. Yeah. He'd have to remember that one.

--

Gibbs woke to the feeling that he was being watched. He squinted and looked down at a pair of green eyes atop a distinctly mischievous smile. "Hmmmm," he growled.

Abby flicked her index and middle finger across her chin twice while letting a quick giggle escape. Gibbs noted with sadness that her smile stopped short of reaching her eyes.

"I am not cute, Abs," he said.

She wriggled out of his grip and snatched her coffee mug while she stood. "You're right, Gibbs. You're not cute. You're... positively _adorable_ while you sleep."

"Abs…" he warned.

She responded with a _hmmpf!_ as she turned on her heels and headed out to the kitchen, shutting the lights off with a flick of her wrist. He glanced at his watch – 0100 – and realized they must have been asleep for a couple of hours. He followed her, coffee mug in hand.

Abby was standing in front of the sink, arms wrapped over her stomach, staring out the window at the sky. The clouds were glowing softly, a muted reflection of the city below, the perfect backdrop for the dark silhouettes of the neighbourhood trees. Gibbs sat at the kitchen table watching her carefully, sipping his cold coffee. He knew she needed space tonight as much as she needed to be held.

After several long minutes, her chest heaved with silent sobs. Gibbs walked towards her. He stopped a few inches behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. He pulled her close as he placed a soft kiss in her hair, letting his lips linger.

"Did I ever tell you why I got the tats on my shoulders?" Her voice quavered. He squeezed her shoulders lightly but said nothing. "Well, have I?"

Gibbs pulled the elastics from her hair to release her pigtails. "No, you've never told me." He smoothed her hair with his palms. "Why?"

She seemed entranced by the view out the window. He wondered what she saw.

"You. I got them because they remind me of you."

"Me?" He let his hands drift down to tangle with hers. She felt cold. "Abs, you're freezing."

"That's all you've got to say? Gibbs, do you even remember what the tats look like?"

Of course he knew. "Angels, Abs. They're angels."

She nodded. He freed one hand from hers to place it on her shoulder. He used his thumb to rub circles on the thin material that separated his skin from the tattoo. "I understand," he whispered into her hair.

They stood together in silence watching the sway of the trees outside. The wind had picked up. A storm was coming, and the branches waved in warning. Lightning spiderwebs soon began to crawl along the bottom of the clouds. He thought he felt her shiver against him.

"Can we go downstairs?" she asked.

"Let's get you into something warmer first." He pulled away from her and frowned at her mini-skirt and skull-covered blouse. "Go put on a pair of my sweat pants and a sweatshirt. And put on some thick socks while you're at it."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "But _Giiibbs_…"

"Now," he said sternly. "You may not like they way my clothes look or fit, but you're not going to catch a chill on my watch."

"'Catch a chill'", she echoed playfully as she headed upstairs. Her voice sounded happy but her body betrayed her – hunched back, feet dragging, arms limp. "You sound like an old man. That's what Grandma Sciuto used to say to me when I was little."

He waited until he heard her rummaging in his bedroom before opening the door to the basement. He sat down on the top step of the stairwell, waiting for her to return. His hand danced across his shirt to rest over inked skin that reminded him of her.

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	3. Chapter 3

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Gibbs snapped photographs of the crime scene: the back alley of a questionable bar in an even more questionable neighbourhood. The perfume of stale alcohol and urine would reach him in waves, along with a stench he couldn't quite define and wasn't sure he wanted to. He suspected it had something to do with the contents of the dumpsters lined against wall.

The dead Petty Officer, a Simon Maclennan, had been shot in the abdomen, and left to bleed to death slumped against one of the dumpsters. Franks and the ME, a peculiar man who insisted he be called "Ducky", were hunched over the body discussing… something. Gibbs caught the odd word, and was wondering how "Genghis Khan", "waffle makers" and "curling irons" could possibly have anything to do with the case.

"Probie, you gonna take pictures of those dumpsters all day, or you think that it might be important to snap a few of our dead friend here?"

"I was waiting for you and Ducky to finish, Boss."

"You shouldn't have to wait for me to finish before you start doing your own job. Or is that how they trained you in the Corps?"

Gibbs stifled the urge to clock his boss. Instead, as he focussed the image of the dead Petty Officer through the viewfinder, he ensured he angled the camera to maximize the impact of the flash on Franks eyes.

"You trying to burn my retinas, Probie?" Franks snapped.

Gibbs hid his smirk behind the camera.

After the body was cleared by Ducky, and Franks was satisfied that his junior field agent had taken enough pictures, Gibbs was told to search each dumpster for any evidence. Franks would begin questioning the bar staff and patrons.

Before getting into the dumpsters, Gibbs pulled on a set of coveralls over his clothes and traded his shoes for a pair of rubber boots. After sifting through fifty-three bags of rotting food, nineteen soggy and stained cardboard boxes, two old mattresses, five broken chairs, and eight inches of mush that could only be described as a greenish-brown liquid of unknown origin, the only suspicious items that Gibbs had bagged were a pair of black leather gloves and a baseball cap.

"What'd you find?" Franks asked, squinting as he emerged from the darkness of the bar.

Gibbs held up the evidence bags. "A pair of leather gloves and a baseball cap. They look like they had been recently tossed in that dumpster," Gibbs pointed. "And there appears to be blood on the gloves."

"Not bad, Probie. Not bad." Franks paused as he flipped his notebook open. "According to the bartender – a very lovely lady, I must say – our vic came in earlier today looking for his brother, Connor Maclennan, who apparently is a regular here. His mission was successful, and according to the staff and the customers I interviewed, the two brothers had a bit of a yelling match inside – about what no one could tell me. The music in there is really loud. And really bad. Point is, no one could hear them. In fact, I couldn't hear myself think until I pulled the plug that damn jukebox. Anyway, the bartender said she saw them both head towards the back door but neither came back. That was the last anyone in there saw of them today. Until, of course, the cook came out to dump a bag of garbage into the dumpster and noticed the dead Petty Officer." Franks sniffed the air in front of Gibbs. "Speaking of garbage, you stink."

Gibbs started to strip off his coveralls. "I'll grab a shower when we get back to NIS. Then I take it we're going to visit Connor Maclennan at his house?"

Franks smirked. "Sure you'll have a shower. But not until we've found Maclennan."

Gibbs frowned as his boss headed for the car. He was sure that the stench of rotting food that clung to his hair and clothes would tip anyone off of their impending approach. The smell really was hard to miss. Suddenly Franks stopped and spun around.

"And Probie, if you still smell that bad after you've taken off those coveralls, I may just make you ride in the trunk."

--

Gibbs watched Abby out of the corner of his eye as he swept a plane across the wood, leaving thin paper trails in its wake. She was clutching a sanding block tightly, moving it along the wood like a pebble skipping across smooth water.

"Gentle but firm, Abs. Use even pressure." He placed his hand over hers and got her back into the rhythm.

"Sorry, Gibbs. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this tonight. I'm a little distracted I guess. I don't want to ruin the boat."

"The boat isn't important, Abs." He used an index finger under her chin to turn her face toward his. _You are_, he thought. Instead he said, "You wanna talk now?"

She dropped the sanding block and started pacing, her tiny figure lost in the loose material of his sweatshirt and pants. He leaned back against the boat and watched her, waiting. After several minutes of pacing and chewing her lower lip she stopped and looked at him.

"Why? Why did it have to happen? Why can't I forget it? Why do I get like… like…," she outstretched her arms and bowed her head, "like _this_ every year at this time? Why am I so weak?" She looked up at him with burning eyes. "Why, Gibbs?"

He could only answer one of her questions. "You are not weak, Abs." He took a step towards her and offered his embrace. "You are one of the strongest people I know. You may _be_ the strongest."

She took a step towards him and he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Her tears were back. She slumped against him and closed her eyes.

"You're exhausted Abby. Let's get you to bed," he whispered in her ear. She nodded but resisted when he tried to pull away. He sighed and nodded to himself, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her upstairs.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: Hope this doesn't disappoint. There are implied bad things in this chapter but nothing explicit. Consider yourself warned. Oh, and please review!! :)**

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Connor Maclennan's dilapidated trailer home sat on a large lot littered with old cars, appliances, and other junk. Fresh tire tracks in the muddy driveway hadn't yet been washed away by the rain. It appeared that their suspect had already fled.

After circling the trailer, Franks and Gibbs cautiously approached the front door, guns drawn. The door was slightly ajar. At his boss's signal, Gibbs knocked on the door and yelled, "Federal agents! Open up, Connor!"

There was no response. Franks signalled a countdown, and the two agents burst through the front door and began sweeping the rooms.

"Clear!" yelled Franks, after sweeping the kitchenette and living room.

"Clear!" echoed Gibbs after checking the bedroom and bathroom.

"Bastard's already gone," grunted Franks. "I'm gonna get on the horn and let the Director know, and to make sure those desk jockey agents got the APB out on our suspect. You start collecting evidence in here."

Gibbs scanned the scanned the filthy living room. It was decorated with furniture that matched the dated shag carpeting and wood panelling on the walls. Empty beer bottles and dirty plates were strategically placed on the coffee table and tv stand amidst stacks of newspapers and magazines. Soup cans filled with cigarette butts stood in a line on the windowsill.

Gibbs headed for the bedroom. A sour smell hung in the air. The bed was unmade, and the exposed sheets had obviously not been washed recently. Something on the wall beside the headboard caught his attention and he approached carefully, stepping over mounds of discarded clothing.

A metal bracket had been attached to the wall. Attached to the bracket was a chain. It was then that he noticed the cot in the corner of the bedroom. A plastic Barbie doll in a soiled dress sat staring at him vacantly. A puddle of vomit beside the cot had not yet dried.

"What the hell…" he whispered. It was not a question. He knew what this meant.

--

_Stay with me_, she had signed to him as he laid her down on the bed. _Please_.

"Abs."

He meant it to sound like a warning. But to his own ears it sounded soft. He noticed she was watching him. He avoided her gaze by moving away to turn of the lights.

"Abby," he tried again. That was better. "I'll be in the other room. One door away."

She closed her eyes. "Please," she whispered.

He sighed and, although her eyes were still closed, he nodded slowly. He allowed himself to give in as he had every year. "I'll stay till you fall asleep." It was a lie. He wouldn't leave her side tonight, but he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. He didn't know why. "I'll be back in minute."

He grabbed a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms from under his pillow headed to the bathroom. After he changed, he returned to find Abby curled in a tight ball under the covers. He hesitated before slipping between the sheets and pulling her to him. Her muscles stayed taut, and her breathing was shallow and quick. He wasn't sure if she was crying.

He spent long minutes working his hands over her shoulders and back, trying to release some of the tension. After he felt her begin to relax, he kissed the back of her head and moved closer to her, pressing his chest against her back.

"How did… you…" Her voice trailed off.

He waited a few seconds to see if she would continue. "Hmmm? How did I what?"

"How did you find me?"

She had never asked him that before. The realization shocked him. But then again, they had never really spoken much about that day.

--

Footprints.

There they were, in the mud, one clear set of footprints heading towards the yard behind the trailer. A set of matching footprints led from the yard to the fresh tire tracks. What had Maclennan done back there? Gibbs felt anger bubbling in his stomach as scenarios flipped unchecked through his mind.

"Probie, where are you going?"

"Footprints. There are footprints," Gibbs yelled over his shoulder as he ran. "He was keeping a girl in there, chained in the bedroom. He must have moved her before we got here."

"What??" yelled Franks. "Probie, stop and wait a second!"

Gibbs ignored him. He drew his gun as he approached an old refrigerator. Footprints were layered on top of each other at its base. He carefully opened the door, keeping the barrel of his gun between the door and frame.

What he saw caused his breath to catch in his throat. Long auburn hair draped over pale, thin shoulders. A small torso clothed only in underwear, legs and arms tucked into the fetal position. His mind raced, confused. "Kelly?..." he whispered.

His limbs were numb. His gun slipped out of his fingers. He watched it fall then looked back at the girl. "Kelly?" he said again. No, it wasn't Kelly, but his mind was paralyzed. He couldn't think. Couldn't _move_.

A noise penetrated the haze that enveloped him. What was it? A moan. A low, soft moan. The girl was alive. She was _not_ Kelly. She was alive.

"I found her!" yelled Gibbs as Franks approached. "We need to get paramedics out here now!"

Gibbs lifted the girl gently and placed her on the ground. He could hear Franks calling for paramedics. Gibbs took off his jacket and wrapped it around the girl's thin frame, and gently cradled her head in his arms.

"Hang on, sweetie," he said to her. "You're safe now. You're going to be okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

Her eyes fluttered open and closed. Her breath was raspy. He guessed she was about 12 or 13. Older than Kelly. But so thin…

"They're on their way, Probie," Franks said. "They should be here in about 15 minutes. I'll go get some blankets from the car."

Gibbs nodded. He wasn't going anywhere. And when she opened her eyes and focussed on him, that's just what he told her.

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